renegade
by AL0LT0
Summary: he didn't see it as betrayal of any kind. they had a right to do this. for there brothers. for justice. They would do what was necessary. And if innocence died along the way...
1. taking the trans

**(Screen name change from 'Aurora Lunar 0Love This0' to 'AL0LT0'. It was less to type.) Ok… I am a very bad fic writer. Very, very bad. God when did I last post anything? So what we have here is… mussing, a little conspiracy I cooked up for my pleasure as well as yours :P hopefully you'll enjoy.**

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><p><em>Click, click, click.<em>

Fives reveled in the sound of his boots hitting the ground, a perfect beat thrown off only by the slight swagger he had acquired as a result of his kama.

_Click, click, click._

He could still remember the days he'd first come to the 501st with Echo. He remembered joking about the captain's walk, But Fives now found there was a certain… freedom to the swagger, it set you apart; let you see the world through… different eyes.

And damn if he didn't see the world differently.

The door to his barracks slide open and ARC Sergeant Fives stepped through, amber brown eyes scanning over the men half strewn across the barracks.

Tup

Boil

Gus

Kix

Pulsar

A small smile formed on his face.

It had taken him months to select these men. Months of searching through service records, under the table interviews, filling out endless paper work to get them all in the 501st. from there it had been easy for him to convince Rex to let him put a squad together.

To anyone else they where ARC Sgt. Fives's men.

They knew themselves by a slightly different name.

"Renegades, atten-tion." Like perfect little soldiers they snapped into place, backs ramrod strait, heads high, hands at their sides.

But Fives knew not one of them was a 'perfect little soldier'.

Renegades: backsliding, disloyal, mutinous, radical, revolutionary, traitorous, unfaithful.

They had good reason.

_Click, click, click._ Fives reveled in the sound as he stepped between the two uneven lines of men. Kix, Gus and Tup on his left. Boil and Pulsar on his right.

_Click, click, click. _He stopped, turning back around to address them.

"The time has come gentleman," he couldn't help the smile in his voice that didn't pass his lips. "Ready your weapons."

They fell out of line, returning to their bunk with the speed not even their life long training could have provided.

It was the speed of adrenalin, of unimaginable excitement at the prospect of what was to come.

This time, a smile did pass Fives's lips, his entire life… had come down to this.

When he saw that every one of his men had a blaster in hand he turned for the door, pulling his helmet on to cover his face. Behind him, he knew his men where doing the same.

Before the barracks doors slide open again, he spoke. An unset incantation they had whispered many nights before they'd fallen asleep, in the safety of their darkened barracks, where no one else could hear them.

"For Echo,"

Behind him, he heard Boil, Boil, his second. Boil, who would assume command of there squad if and When Fives was killed.

"For Waxer,"

Gus spoke next, the veteran of the squad, he'd been serving since Geanosis… he'd seen hell.

"For the sergeant." They all knew who he meant.

Kix followed, team medic, level head, droid killer.

"For Hardcase."

Pulsar was after him, the jokester, the clone, no one took him seriously… no one outside of the squad.

"For Trap."

Tup was last. Always last. The rookie of the group, but he had seen Umbaria, he'd seen war.

"For Dogma."

The doors to there barrack slide open, and they marched forward, guns in hand, helmets firmly in place.

No one stopped them, no one asked any questions. Which was surprising considering Fives was sure they looked ready for war.

But then again… most troopers looked like that all the time. The cautious, stiff gaunts of boys made men to fast by war and experimentation.

Unjust.

Unfair.

They had good reason.

They stepped out into the crowded street of Coruscant, and still got little more than a few curious glances from passers by.

But troopers with guns where not out of place.

Not in this time when war was a household word, as was clone.

They reached the rail station with little problem, and even as they climbed aboard the trans no one spared them more than a glance.

That was, until Fives raised his blaster.

And shot the mongrel trans marshal.

_Everyone _paid attention then.

"This is a hijacking." Even as he spoke his men moved out, just as they had prepared to do, securing the exits, Pulsar going to take care of the engineer running the trans. "If you cooperate, you will live, if you don't-" the transport came to a metal screeching halt, telling Fives that Pulsar had done his job. "You will be shot without hesitation."

Months of planning, it had taken him months to prepare for this, months of his painfully short life. But it would be worth it, it would _allll _be worth it.

The senate would pay for the death of his brother.

As would the Jedi.

Because even though the majority of the people on this trans were no name civilians, most likely soon to become mere numbers in the grueling statistic of civilian casualty in an endless war.

Senator Amidala was not,

Nor was senator Organa.

Nor senator Chuchi.

Nor any other member of the senate, who where currently huddled together in the back of the trans, confused, betrayed looks on their normally stoic faces.

"Contact the chancellor," He spoke over his shoulder to Gus, who was already elbow deep in the holo-communicators control panel. "Give him our demands." He twirled the blaster at the end of his fingertips. "And tell him if they aren't meet within half a cycle… we start killing passengers."

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><p><strong>Just a little bit of musing. No there probably wont be much more, unless Reviewers demand it to be written (also if anyone wants to take up the story, be my guest. So long as you ask permission) please Review I live off of them :P (anonymous reviews excepted) <strong>


	2. the hippocratic

**Well… I'll be honest with you I didn't honestly expect to continue this… but it just goes to show what a couple of review will do to you. (Which reminds me I got to continue 'beauty and the beast'… *hits self over the head) anyways enjoy I'm writing from a different character today :P so lets see how he turns out… really this whole thing was written on a whim (you ever write on a whim? Its fun…) so I hope I develop his character interestingly ;) (and i hope i kept the same flow as the first chapter i liked the feel of that...)**

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><p><em>WITH PURITY AND WITH HOLINESS I will pass my life and practice my Art. <em>

So much of Kix's life up to this point had been a contradiction.

He was a trooper. A soldier of the republic, defender of the citizen's and senate there of.

Or at least, he _had_ been.

"Move it Civvie." He used the tip of his boot to 'encourage' one of the more resistant passenger to move to the back of the trans as Fives had ordered.

Surprisingly enough treason had never been a _completely _unappealing option to Kix. He had actually considered it quite seriously it on a multitude of occasions.

And those considerations had only increased after Hardcase's death.

Kix's jaw set in a tight line and he shoved the Civvie a little harder, unnecessarily this time.

It was those _damn _Jedis' fault_. _

Any other general, any other general in the GAR and Hardcase would still be alive.

"I said move it!" he kicked the man harder, anger boiling up inside him as the Civvie continued to resist.

He was a tall man, thin, his light blue skin and purpled hair marking him as a pantoran.

Kix kicked him again, and the man finally obliged, crawling reluctantly to the back of the trans with the other passengers.

He was luck he wasn't umbarian.

If he had been… Kix would have shot him.

His life was a contradiction.

He was a medic, swore to heal and to do anything and everything in his power to keep those around him alive and safe.

But he had no qualm with fighting.

In fact… a part of him _reveled _in it.

A fact made quite obvious by the words etched across his helpmate plate, in basic, plain and simple for all to read and know.

'A good droid is a dead droid.'

When the last of the civvies had _finally_ moved to there place in the back of the trans. _Damn didn't they teach the mongrels anything about survival? _Kix moved back to the front of the transport. Leaving Tup and Boil to guard the… well he mine as well start calling the prisoners.

No, Kix had no problem with his current state of treachery, though he had been more than a little shocked when Fives had approached him with the idea. Honestly he'd never taken him for the type. The ARC had seemed to loyal… to… what word could there be for a man so devoted to one cause he would never waver?

Kix would figure it out when he figured it out.

Until then he concerned himself with his secondary assignment.

The trans marshal was still breathing.

Kix took a seat next to the man, shrugging off his medical pack and beginning to look through it carefully, completely ignoring the crimson red blood he found himself kneeling in as a result of his close proximity to the man.

White was a boring color anyway.

The marshal was young, couldn't have been a day over 20 with short red hair and rounded features that made him look even younger.

The man… no… the boy looked up at him with wide green eyes and Kix couldn't help but wonder how it was he was still conscious.

With the rate at which he'd been loosing blood it was not scientifically possible-

"You' goin' ta kill me?"

Kix shifted his thoughts to look down at the boy, his own amber eyes clashing with the marshals green ones.

"Well? Get it over with… clone scum." He tagged the last words on as an after thought, clearly trying to die with at least some of his dignity intact, showing just how _poor _his training really_ had_ been.

Insulting your capture?

When he had a DC-17 in hand?

Was he brave or just plain stupid?

Either way Kix ignored the comment, instead going to his medical pack to pull out the necessary equipment.

He was bleeding heavily, the shot from Fives gun had struck him in the leg, dangerously close to an artery but not rupturing it, nor striking any of the bones in close proximity to the wound.

Through and through, the best way to be shot.

And the kind of accuracy only an ARC or a sniper could have pull off.

Kix's hands moved quickly to dress the wound, ignoring the boys cursing at him, and his pathetic attempts at striking him.

Really? Did he honestly think he could fight off a trooper? With the amount of blood he'd lost? Kix took back what he'd thought about the kid's bravery he was just plain stupid.

When he was finished patching the wound he pulled the swearing trans marshal to his feet, dragging the man, (with surprising gentleness) to the back of the transport and setting him down next to a older rodian couple, both of whom stared up at him with fear filled eyes, there old faces pressed close together as the man held his wife close. Trying to offer some form of comfort.

A twinge of pity struck his heart at the thought that they might not live through this. It was followed by a flash of anger at the senate and the chancellor.

It any of these people died it would be because those in power failed to act for the better of there own citizens.

Their squad wasn't comprised of murderers, or criminals of any kind.

They where simply a means to an end. And if that meant killing a few innocence to achieve a greater goal…

"Make sure he doesn't rip his fucking stitches." Kix turned away so they wouldn't see the glint of moisture in his eyes, not daring to show the hostages his weakness.

They where a means to an end.

But… that didn't mean there deaths would be any more righteous.

Kix sighed heavily returning to the front of the transport to take a seat next to Fives.

Said man had his hands stippled in front of his lips, a thoughtful look on his face as he watched Gus speak to the holographic form of the supreme chancellor.

The medic couldn't help but wonder… if Fives really saw the righteousness in what they where doing. Kix, of course, understood the applications. He knew their goal and understood the steps that needed to be taken to reach it….

But he had to wonder… if in the end… those in positions of power, with there high class friend and well paying salaries that afforded them the richest of clothing, homes and lavished parties that where not and would never be necessary to winning the war… he wondered if they would see the reason in what was being done. If they would be willing to relinquish there highly held prides and choose _life. _

The life of there citizens.

The life of their fellow senators being held in the back of the very transport he was on.

The life of his brothers, still fighting a war in which they had no steak.

Kix rested his blaster across his lap.

If they didn't…

He wondered if _he _would be the first to kill a passenger.

Or perhaps Fives would do it.

Fives seemed… much less bothered by the prospect.

And Kix couldn't help but wonder…

If Echo would really agree.

Or if Fives had simply convinces himself of such.

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><p><strong>Good lord I can't believe I actually managed to continue… in decent time to… well the muse went to work I suppose and the story will be continued according to it. I will not promise a speedy update because when I do there never is one :P so maybe if I don't there WILL be one… any thoughts or comments are appreciated they feed the muse. <strong>

**Anonymous reviews accepted. **


	3. wounding of an innocent

**This chapter is shorter than I would have liked… and it turned out very dark towards the end… just be prepared for that. quick notes.**

**Bantha herder/son of a gundark= insults. **

**Krayt dragon= kind of like a komodo dragon I guess… you might want to look it up. **

**Jettiise= a mandalorian word for Jedi. Insulting. **

**Contains references and spoilers for the season 2 episode 'brain invaders'. If you get confused message me and I'll explain what I can.**

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><p>Pulsar had a cocky grin on his face as he pushed the engineer (gray haired and thin) to the back of the transport.<p>

"You no good bantha herding son of a gundark! Why you've got another thing coming if you think your going to get away with this!" The old man cursed at him. His voice was wheezy and tired, though something about him reminded Pulsar of an over aged Krayt dragon.

The trooper couldn't hold back his laugh.

"Don't you laugh at me _sonny_. Why in my day I held the lightweight championship boxing title for _fifteen _year!" The old man looked defiant, shoving Pulsars hand off of his arm. "I can walk damn it! Mary, Jesus and Joseph didn't your mother ever teach you not to man handle your elders?"

"Didn't have one." Pulsar smirked at the look on the man's face and continued to guide him to the back of the trans.

"Didn't have a mother? Bull-shit!" he smacked the trooper's hand off of his shoulder once again, glaring.

"Nope no mother… wait… does my growth jar count?" his voice was snarkish making him grin all the wider.

"Jesus and Joseph don't get snippy with me _sonny_." The old man waved a fist at him imposingly. "Or I _will _show you how I held that championship! I may not be as fast as I used to but I can still wipe the floor with a cocky kid like you!"

Kid… huh… wasn't something he'd ever been called before… then again no one had called him 'sonny' before either.

Pulsar smirked once again, thoroughly enjoying himself, a bit too much to leave the old man with the other prisoners in the back.

He instead settled for pushing the trans driver into a seat and taking the open one next to him. Near the middle of the trans, far enough away from Fives, Kix and Gus for them not to hear them, close enough to the back and to the hostages for him to, _technically_, be helping Boil and Tup guard the others.

The old man scowled at him. "I told you not to man handle me _sonny_!"

"ya ya whatever you say gramps." Pulsar grinned behind his helmet, the entertainment too much to pass up.

"Don't call me gramps!" He looked indignant. "I got a name you know! Drake Washington Orville Traps ya over grown bucket wearin' baby!"

The smile slipped off of Pulsars face.

Trap…

His hands balled into fists and he gritted his teeth hard.

That damn jettiise killed Trap.

He had tried; oh he had truly tried at first to go back to being a good little clone, to following the rules and looking up to his superiors.

But no matter what he did every jettiise he saw made his flesh turn cold and his hands itch to feel their blood upon them.

People said the Jedi where good.

People said they where 'peace keepers'.

Pulsar knew that was a lie.

A 'peace keeper' would have found another way. A 'peace keeper' wouldn't have shoved their light saber through the chest of a man who wasn't even in control of his actions.

He knew how it stacked up. The Jedi where his superior officers and they demanded the highest level of respect. So he kept his feelings to himself, hiding them carefully from even his closest brothers in Tango Company. How Fives had seen through his walls he didn't even know, but he was glad he had.

Because it wasn't just about Trap anymore.

The worms. The medics had blamed it on the worms, said it made them all go crazy, said they messed around in their heads so much it scrambled their brains.

As it stood, six members of Tango Company had already been reconditioned, Ox and Edge among them, and Havoc's fate was still remained undecided after a potentially damning incident on Naboo.

And Scythe…

Suicide had been the only probably outcome in Scythes case, the guilt alone had been enough to drive him over the edge.

He brought the worms on board.

He infected the others.

He ordered the death of their pilots.

And sticking a blaster in his mouth was the only way he could see to make it up to them.

As it stood Pulsar was one of the only remaining troopers who had been infected. And that wasn't necessarily something he was proud of.

He had actually considered following Scythe for a wile, but something had kept it back. Every time he stared down at the viro'blade in his hands… every time he tried to turn his blaster towards himself…

Something had stoped him.

And he'd never been gladder for it than when Fives had approached him about this 'mission'.

A chance for redemption.

A chance to pay back the Jettiise for what had been taken from him.

For his lieutenant and for his Company.

He would do what was necessary.

"Are you _listening_ to me, _sonny_?" The old mans shouts brought him back to reality, and somehow, it was no longer amusing. "What's wrong with you boy? Do I need to drill _holes_ in that can of yours? Take it off before I take it off for you!"

Pulsar blinked for a moment staring at the trans driver as though he wasn't speaking basic.

"That's it!" The trooper had never been more shocked than when the old man grabbed hold of his helmet, yanking it off of his head before he had a chance to yell at him. "There!"

The two blinked at each other for a moment, and a long crease forming in the old mans brow as his eyebrows shot up.

"Mary, Jesus and Joseph you're younger than my _son_!"

"heh- more like your grandkids Pops." Pulsar grabbed his helmet back, slamming it on his head before standing from his seat, turning to look towards the back of the other hostages in the back of the trans.

_Frek they SAW. _

Pulsar knew the price of that, he knew what could happen to him- to all of them- to the plan- if the hostages where allowed to see their weakness.

The old fool didn't leave him any choice.

He would do what was necessary.

"Come on Gramps." Pulsar grabbed hold of the old mans arm, forcing him into a standing position before stepping back, cracking his knuckles.

The old man continued to look up at him in defiance, but there was a softness in his eyes now, a silent acceptance that some how, even though he'd never experienced anything like it before, Pulsar understood.

'_You're younger than my son._'

The trooper couldn't explain the sudden swell of emotions in his chest, he couldn't define the heaviness of his limbs as he raised them.

He just muted his helmet so no one would hear him crying, and tried to keep his eyes clear enough to avoid hitting anything vital as he beat Drake Washington Orville Traps to a bruised and bloody mess.

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><p><strong>Please review… and don't kill me ok? Gus' chapter is next… and a little more from Kix. The plot should begin a stronger forward momentum in the next chapter.<strong>


	4. demands made

**Hello peoples… this chapter turned out… different than it was going to originally. And I ended up rewriting a lot of stuff. But over all I'm proud of it. **

**WARNING: this chapter contains SLASH that means BOYxBOY. If this is not to your liking. Please don't waste all of our time telling us this in a flame. No one really cares.**

**Enjoy :)**

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><p>Gus was a man who prided himself in strait talk.<p>

He didn't try to dance around the truth, didn't try to sugar coat what he was saying. And he sure as hell didn't have a filter. He said what he thought when he thought it and exactly _how _he thought it.

"You have twelve hours. A millisecond later and we start blowing brains out." Gus' voice was hard warn and gruff, almost three years of continuous service making him the most experience man in his squad.

And with the way clones where dropping these days, possibly the whole army.

Sketch was dead, Chopper was gone, Punch was dead… Jester was sent back to Kamino that was about as good as dead…

Just him left, good old Gus, sergeants second.

"Trooper, you can't possibly expect-"

"I can and I do. Get to work chancellor…or I assure you the dear senators will be among the first casualties." Gus' voice was almost chastising, and earned him a defiant glare from the chancellor.

Stupid old man.

A cruel smile curled his lips behind his helmet.

"The clock is ticking." Gus hit the transmitter button on the holo projector, effectively cutting off his connection with chancellor Palpatine.

"What'd he say trooper?" Gus turned to face his sergeant, setting quickly into parade rest.

"He's hesitant sir." The smile was slipping into his voice, layering its usual gruffness with an almost ominous lust for revenge. "But I'm sure he'll come around… if not before than after the first shooting."

Fives nodded curtly, deep brown eyes shifting to the back of the transport. "Do you have any idea's as to who should be the first?"

Gus couldn't help the dead chuckle that passed his lips. "Senator Amidala sir." He straitened. "With your permission sir… I'd like very much to be the one to shoot her."

Fives nodded, almost to himself, one hand coming up to cup his chin in thought.

"Any particular reason trooper?" there was no scorn in his voice, he wasn't talking down to him, he was simply… asking.

"She's Skywalkers friend sir." Gus growled out, spitting the word 'Skywalker' as if it put a bad taste in his mouth, the smirk on his face replaced by a snarl.

Fives nodded thoughtfully, eyes shifting to the back of the trans where the aforementioned woman was conversing quietly with the other senators, spirit in her movements as she spoke.

"She does seem to be attempting to provoke the other hostages into action negative to our campaign…"

Gus grunted, big words and fancy terminology, just an ARC trainees way of saying he was above them.

The trooper didn't care about that… his only interest was in paying Skywalker back for what the Jedi and the war had stolen from him.

_A life for a life._

"Yes trooper."

Gus snapped his attention back to Fives.

"You may shoot her… but… not right away. The senators shouldn't be the first casualties-" The ARC sergeant nodded thoughtfully, smiling at the other man. "But if and when we need to make a… loader statement…"

Gus grinned, nodding.

A little farther down the trans Kix had set to work with his medical kit once again, patching up the old trans driver wile Pulsar had excused himself to the empty trans car in front of them.

Gus knew why, and it disgusted him.

Crying over a civilian? It wasn't like the man was dead or anything.

But Gus wasn't a man who spent his time trying to figure other guys out. As far as he was concerned it was a waste of time.

It wasn't like he'd been friendly with anyone since Slick's betrayal.

The trooper's lips curled up into a snarl as he took his post near the back of the trans, passing by Kix and the bloody trans driver as he did.

Another thing about Gus was that he didn't take 'brothers' as seriously as other men seemed to. He felt no pull of loyalty to these men who shared his face, no bitter sting when he saw one go down in battle. He hadn't felt pity since Punch's death.

But squad mates where different.

No, Gus didn't feel close to his brothers, he hadn't since Christosis.

Christosis…

It all went back to Christosis.

Or perhaps it went back only as far as returning to the _negotiator _afterwards.

The battle- and the betrayal- had stung him deeper than what he allowed anyone to see. but what he and his squad had faced in the open barracks of the ship had been nearly as bad.

Rumors spread fast through an army of identical men, especially men with nothing to loose.

Gus wasn't stupid, and he sure as hell wasn't deaf. He'd heard to whispers, the rumors men spoke about him when they thought he couldn't hear.

'Sergeants second'

'Slicks _favorite'_

'He'd do _anything _for his sergeant.'

'Next to go.'

'Probably left him orders.'

'Brother fucker'

Gus closed his eyes slowly, oh yes, he remembered that.

It wasn't simply a saying, it wasn't simply a meaningless name they called him when their rumors ran dry.

They meant it literally.

'Brother fucker.'

These rumors light a strange fire in the pit of his stomach, hurt, anger and loose coupling together to make him feel as though he where burning alive.

The worst part of it was… he couldn't deny it.

Because if he did he'd be lying.

And Gus may have been a lot of things… but he was no liar.

'Brother fucker.'

'Clone whore.'

'How'd the traitor feel?'

Gus found it ironic that, if he died on this mission, it would be as both a virgin and a whore.

They hadn't done anything, _frek_ they lived in open barracks when would they have found _time_ or _a place_ to do anything? Their relationship had been… non-physical, excluding a few frantic kisses that ended much to quickly and small, hidden touches that could never have been enough.

It still hurt like hell.

Gus remembered the last time he'd seen his sergeant, bruised and handcuffed, being lead out of lock up by two mongrel guards. (Because no one wanted to risk the traitor corrupting his brethren, and talking them into letting him escape.)

He had screamed at him, he had cried behind his helmet but kept his voice deadly steady, he had yelled and threatened and shook his fist, demanding to know _why._

Slick had stared at him strait through the depth of his helmet, his voice calm and those amber eyes dry.

'I did this for you.'

It broke Gus' heart.

But that was okay… He was a trooper… he'd broken everything else at one point, it only seemed natural to have his heart broken at least once.

There had been brothers around him then, brothers who had seen the way his shoulders shook when Slick had said those words, who knew enough to figure out why he had muted his helmet then.

So the rumor mill was born.

And that- that was the true reason he felt no great love for his brothers- they didn't know when enough was enough… If they could see how badly he'd already been beaten- if they could have _tried_ to understand how much it hurt, how much Gus truly wished he could _die_-

He didn't even know anymore.

Slick, his brother, his sergeant, his lover- was executed for treason before he left Christosis.

No trial was held.

No witnesses where called.

No chance for redemption.

Shot dead without spending a day in prison- their would be no punishment for Slick, only the blissful freedom death had allowed him. His life signed away by the Jedi general's stylus on a data pad.

Hence his hatred for Skywalker.

Gus had known a man who attended the execution- a softhearted normal-born who came to find him after it was said and done.

The man had gripped his shoulder, squeezing it softly and apologizing.

To this day… Gus didn't understand why.

The next day in the showers aboard the _negotiator_, a trooper, as new and shiny as sunlight, had asked him how the traitor felt.

He then warned him not to drop the soap as he walked away.

He was the first man to say anything to Gus' face.

The next time he saw the shinny had been in the after math of a battle, the young clone had been skewered by a piece of shrapnel, his head lolled to one side and hands hanging limp around the piece of jagged metal that had once been part of a droids lower torso.

Gus had smirked and asked him how the droid had felt, warning him not to drop the motor grease on his way to daryam.

It had been a… turning point for him.

Gus checked his blaster to ensure his cartridge was full, eyes scanning over the hostages before turning to stare out at the far to empty streets and platforms.

_For you Slick._ If he was going to join his lover… he would at least take the senator with him.

If only to make Skywalker _hurt_.

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><p>Chancellor Palpatine… was not amused. He ground his teeth together in frustration, old jointed fingers flexing for a moment to calm his temper.<p>

Complying with the units was of course, out of the question.

His next best option was to contact the Jedi.

If he played this right he could get _them _to clean this up for him. Without loosing the publics trust in the clone army.

Today was going to be a very long day.

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><p><strong>Daryam= hell.<strong>

**Normal born/mongrel= referring to a non-clone/civilian. **

**Hokay… I've actually been updating… you all must love me :D or hate me… depends… :P And I know I promised more Kix in this chapter but he got pushed forward… sorry…**

**Review please. :) **


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